Fifth Avenue Devil

Chapter 6

Six

Annalise

M y lips twist sourly as I slide from the back seat of the chauffeured SUV that Nate Fordham sent for me. I wrap the expensive white cashmere and fur wrap that Nate had messengered to my apartment more closely around myself to ward off the chill evening air.

I look up at the broad stone steps before me that lead up to a slate-covered, modern-looking building. I let a puff of breath escape my mouth.

The New York Ballet could be the only ballet in the world, for all I care. Since it was taken over by Nate’s cousin Calum Fordham, their dancers have put on nothing but incredible performances. Everyone who is anyone fights for tickets. Because of the size of the theater, I know that only the most vaunted patrons get box seats.

You can’t buy your way onto the waitlist. You have to be invited . And I’m willing to bet that the Gellar family hasn’t even gotten close to the top of that list.

Because the Fordham family is one of the founding families of New York City, here I am. Heading up to the door, knowing that a much-contested box seat will be waiting for me. I have to admit, my interest is piqued.

An usher holds open a massive oak door for me and I step inside. A soaring, three story space surrounds me. I can see that I follow a group of ballet-goers closely. But their sounds are muffled and distorted by this huge, slate-lined atrium. Nothing sounds like it should.

"Annalise."

When Nate touches my inner arm and says my name, I almost jump out of my skin. I turn to him, my heart thrumming. "Mr. Fordham!" His name from my mouth sounds like a curse. "Don't sneak up on me!"

He chuckles. "I said your name twice before I touched you, Annalise. You are a skittish little thing. I should call you Kitten."

I make a disgusted face. Even though I kind of like the way Kitten sounds, coming from him, it's hardly appropriate. This is a business relationship at best.

I try to remind myself of this as my eyes travel down his body. Once again, he's wearing a tuxedo like he was born in it, commanding my attention. "Mr. Fordham. I would appreciate if we kept things formal."

His eyes skate down my figure, but he doesn't comment on what I am wearing. Thank god for that. I don't need to know what he's thinking; the blaze of hunger in his eyes tells me all I need to know.

This guy is trouble.

Nate sticks out an elbow. "Let's find our seats, shall we?"

So he's going to pretend he didn't hear me. Great.

Sighing, I slip my hand onto his forearm and press my lips into a thin line.

His forearm radiates heat. It's everything I can do not to huddle closer to Nate's big body. They have the air conditioning jacked up in here, perhaps in deference to the ballerinas that will soon be dancing under the hot lights.

As we take the elevator up, and walk past other rich couples, I notice that Nate says hello to practically everyone. Mr. Fordham is a social butterfly? That's not something I had on my imaginary bingo card.

"Is there anybody here that you don't know?" I say wryly.

A smile tips Nate's lips up. A rumble from deep in his chest makes me shiver. "Did you really expect that there would be anyone here I wouldn't know? I'm from one of the oldest, and most well-connected families in New York City." He arches a brow. "But I don't expect you to know how that is. To my knowledge, Archer was penniless ten years ago."

I feel my cheeks heat. For a moment, I had almost forgotten that Nate and my dad operated as business rivals for quite a long time. Silly me. "You're not scoring yourself any points by bringing up the fact that my family hasn't been rich for long." I shake my head, my expression pinched.

He lets out a soft laugh and heads toward a row of doors with pink velvet hangings draped on either side of them. "Fair point."

I look at him skeptically. I can’t tell if he is making fun of me or not. If he is, he's hiding his condescension well.

An usher spots Nate and hurries to open one of the doors. "Mr. Fordham, welcome. I wasn't told you would be here tonight," he squeaks.

"Hello, Jones." Nate pats the usher's shoulder as we pass. I am pretty sure I see him pass the man a large cash tip. "Make sure that we're not disturbed, will you?"

Then he slides his arm around my waist and hurries me on, not waiting for a response.

This must be what life is to Nate; he pays, and people rush to do his bidding.

The usher closes the door as soon as we are through it. Below us are padded benches that can accommodate a dozen or so patrons. Then the box drops off and the whole stage spreads out beneath us, misty and beckoning like a Siren.

I gasp and step down to peer over the balcony edge. There, I see the orchestra warming up and the audience that spills out behind them. From our vantage point near the stage, the floor seats seem quite far away.

And to think, I was going to be one of the people populating the tightly packed floor. Every seat is occupied. The noise that rises to my ears is muffled. Like everything in this building, it is distorted somehow.

"I take you like the seats?"

I blink, then look at Nate. Somehow, I managed to completely forget him for a full five seconds.

He wears not quite a sneer on his lips as he smirks at me.

Damn him. He's so handsome, it's irritating. He is just... infuriating.

"They're fine," I say.

His lips twitch with humor. "You know what I just realized?”

I tug my wrap around myself, eyeing him. "What's that, Mr. Fordham?"

A smile appears on Nate's lips. "You're very easy to read, Kitten. You really haven't lied very much in your life, have you?"

"I'm honest, if that's what you mean." I glare at him. I’m lying through my pearly white teeth when I add, "And don't call me Kitten."

Just because you like something doesn’t mean you should make a habit of it.

Nate looks me up and down. "You need to be tutored, Annalise. You'll never make it in this business if you can't lie." He flashes me a grin.

"I think I'm doing fine," I grit out. Again, it’s not even close to the truth. But the idea of admitting something so personal to Nate makes me feel faintly sick to my stomach.

He waves a hand to the bench seat. "I don't think so. Take your coat off, Kitten. Stay a while."

My whole face must flush bright red. It has to, from the way it flames hot. I knew that he would make me take my wrap off at some point. I should've picked a much more conservative dress from my closet. I’m not entirely sure why I wore what Nate picked out. I guess I’m always doing what I’m told. That’s been my whole personality for my entire life.

It’s a hard habit to break. Plus, Nate’s taste in clothes is, unsurprisingly, very chic.

My mouth twists with distaste as I walk over to the seat he’s indicated and slowly peel my wrap off.

As I start revealing skin, I notice that his breathing hitches.

Coupled with my usual black pumps, I am wearing the beaded gold tube top and matching gold skirt he picked out for me. And honestly? The look on Nate's face right now is worth the embarrassment of wearing so little in public.

His eyes bounce to my tits, then to my belly button, then to my tightly-fitted, gold beaded skirt with a hem that is higher than any I have ever worn before.

For a moment, Nate doesn't even breathe.

For that moment, I feel like I have all the power in the world.

Then Nate seems to remember himself and forces his eyes back up to my face.

"You look good in the clothes that I picked out for you, Annalise," he purrs.

What do I say to that? If I were my dad, I would try to show no weakness. And I want Nate Fordham to view me as seriously as he views my father.

I lift my chin defiantly. "And you look like a cartoon dog with its tongue rolling out. Down, boy."

His expression of complete surprise delights me. "Are you saying that you wouldn't spend the night in my bed?" He sits down beside me just as the lights begin to dim.

"In your dreams, Nate Fordham."

As I say it, my heart thuds so hard against my ribs that I am sure it's about to break free and crawl out of the box we're sitting in.

His silver eyes narrow on my face. "No woman says no to me."

I shrug, trying to pretend that my heart isn’t hammering in my chest as I speak. "I do."

The orchestra begins the overture and I slide forward, leaning my elbows on the box's ledge.

He stares at me for several seconds, then shakes his head. "We're going to talk about this later," he husks out.

"Not if I have anything to say about it," I fire back.

The first ballerina springs onto the stage. The orchestra is loud and wonderfully distracting. I try to focus my attention on the stage.

Nate slides closer on the bench. I glance at him and his eyes are on the stage, as they should be. I breathe a sigh of silent relief and turn back to the ballet.

But half a minute later, Nate's hand lands on my thigh. My heart starts hammering relentlessly. "Mr. Fordham!" I scold him.

"Shh." He nods at the stage. "Keep your eyes on the performance."

"But your hand?—"

"Is comfortable where it's at," he finishes the sentence for me. "Now be quiet."

I feel like I've swallowed my tongue. Staring at Nate so hard that I should burn a hole in one of his perfectly chiseled cheeks does no good. He doesn't move his hand, which rests just above the hem of my skirt.

At last, I look away from him and stare angrily at the ballerinas that fly across the stage. My mind is working overtime.

Nate moves his hand ever so slightly. He plucks at the beaded hem of my skirt, his fingertips trailing down to skate across my bare thigh. I squirm, trying to move away.

What is he doing?

Most of the time, I want to throttle Nate Fordham. Not let him touch me so... intimately.

Just because he's handsome as sin doesn't mean that I want to throw myself at him. Maybe if he were a little less irritating, we would be having a very different conversation.

Am I just a prude? I wonder to myself. Sure, I'm still a virgin. And my parents kept me essentially locked up, controlling my social life until I escaped their home at twenty-two. But I don’t think of myself as uptight or judgy. Especially compared to the illustrious Monique Gellar.

According to my mother, I have to be prim and proper until I marry... well, someone like the man I am sitting next to. Then I can be a freak and a slut once I have a Cartier ring on my finger. Sadly for Mom, that marriage is not on the table right now. If it were, my mother would be cheering Nate on, telling me to do whatever it takes.

The thought turns my stomach.

When Nate starts edging my skirt up, I bare my teeth at him. "If you don't stop, I'll scream."

He smiles at me, something devious flashing in his eyes. "You can leave this booth if you want to," he says, looking at the door. "No one is stopping you."

I give him a prim little smile and try to brush away his hand. "I could, but I want to watch the ballet."

Nate's eyes turn toward the stage. "I want you to watch the ballet too, Kitten."

"Don't call?—"

His fingers over my lips silence me. "So damn argumentative," he whispers. "I want to make you feel good, Annalise."

Does he mean... he wants to give me an orgasm? I stare at him, open-mouthed. "I'm not going to sleep with you!" I whisper.

"No one said you had to. Just focus on the ballet." He pauses. "Or we can leave. Your choice."

I clench my jaw. I'm not going to let him scare me. I'm not a little girl he can just order around. Nor am I anyone's Kitten.

Besides, I'm fully dressed and there are people watching us in this box. There is no way that Nate can actually embarrass me and make me weak. Not with those two impediments.

I lift my head, staring stubbornly at the stage. "I'm not leaving." The statement sounds an awful lot like a challenge. Inside, I'm frantically trying to figure out how I feel.

Angry? Frustrated? A little turned on?

Certainly scared. But…

I press my thighs together. I can’t help but notice that Nate’s touch has excited me, made my pussy grow damp. I can feel my excitement gathering in a small pool in my panties.

He leans close, tipping my head back. I look up into his eyes. I can smell his warm, slightly minty breath as it fans across my suddenly sensitive mouth. He smirks at me. “I can see that you want me, little girl.”

I want to protest, but in the next second, his mouth captures mine.

His kiss is as shocking as if I’ve just touched an electric fence. I am frozen for a moment as he presses his lips to mine. A flood of pleasure swells in me and my lower body throbs.

“Kiss me back, Kitten. I know you want to,” he murmurs.

And God help me, I want to.

I kiss him back somewhat timidly, not knowing exactly what I am doing. I feel like a clumsy fool. But then he slips his tongue in my mouth, eliciting a gasp from me. I moan and open my mouth, inviting him in.

I want this. I need his invasion, even if I’m not sure what it means. His fingers pluck at the hem of my skirt again and then skate up my thigh, under my skirt. I grip the collar of his tuxedo, pulling him closer.

His fingers brush the front of my panties, quickly finding the evidence of my excitement. He moans softly. “God. Is this all for me?”

My face heats, but I nod anyway. He kisses me again and his clever fingers brush my slit through my panties. My hips twitch, pressing closer. Nate’s tongue slides against mine and I dig my nails into the material of his jacket.

I need something that only Nate can give me.

And that’s the moment that there is a sharp knock at the door.

I freeze. Nate quickly disentangles himself from me, clearing his throat. I turn my head to stare at the door. Until this moment, I had forgotten that it even existed. Nate twists in his seat and leans over. "Who is it, goddamn it?!"

The voice on the other side is muffled by the thick door. The person speaking sounds far away when he says, “It’s Calum!”

“Shit.” Nate stands up. He’s got a huge erection and he adjusts himself for a second, then looks at me. “We will have to resume this later.”

I stare at him, trapped like I’m a deer in headlights. Vaguely, I nod.

He turns and walks to the door, swinging it open. A handsome dark-haired man in a tux pokes his head in. He looks back and forth between us. "Should I come back?"

Nate clears his throat and hurries out to greet the man. "Calum! How are you?"

Nate doesn’t tell me to follow him. I get up and straighten my skirt, wondering anxiously if anyone will be able to tell that I’d been turned on. My biggest concern is the wet spot on my panties. I can’t feel it anymore, but I don’t want to announce to everyone that I was getting felt up during the ballet.

I follow Nate's footsteps to the door, curious about our visitor. When I duck out my head out into the hall, Nate introduces me. "Annalise Gellar, this is my cousin Calum Fordham. He and his wife run the ballet.”

My heart beats so hard that I’m sure I might die. "It's a pleasure, Mr. Fordham. I am a huge fan of your ballet company."

"Thank you, Ms. Gellar." Calum bows his head. “I hope you’re enjoying Sleeping Beauty .”

Nate smirks. “Calum, Annalise is Archer Gellar’s daughter. She just took over his company."”

“Ah!” Calum says, then turns to Nate and adds, “I know you and Archer butted heads quite a bit. Hopefully you’ll get along a little better with Annalise.”

I bite my tongue against the urge to tell Calum that I did not give him permission to refer to me by my first name. I’m still hanging awkwardly in the doorway, clinging to the shadows.

“We’ll see,” I reply.

Calum smiles coolly. “I didn't mean to interrupt your enjoyment of the performance. I just wanted to reschedule our failed meeting, Nate."

Nate smiles. "Well, you had somewhere else to be, didn't you?" To me, he says, "Calum's wife went into labor a week early a day before we were supposed to grab a drink."

"It's true," Calum says. "I can't say that I'm especially regretful, though. I missed the meeting, but if I’d gone, I would have missed the birth."

Nate laughs. "You chose correctly."

"I think so." Calum smiles. "I should get back to my seat. But I wanted to say hi. Also to tell you that Christoph Meyer, the CEO of Pomegranate Tech, is holding court downstairs. I know you wanted to catch up with him."

"I'll have my PA call yours. We'll see if we can't find a few hours to play racquetball or something." Nate flashes a grateful look at his cousin.

"Or something." Calum smiles vaguely at me. "Nice to meet you, Ms. Gellar."

At least Calum doesn’t call me by my first name, unlike Nate. With a parting smile, Calum heads out the door.

Nate turns back to me, raising an eyebrow. “Meyer owes me three-hundred thousand dollars for backing out of a deal at the last minute. I’ve been trying to catch him in person to pin him down to an agreement, so I’m going downstairs for a minute. Would you like to come?”

Licking my lips, I open my mouth to say yes. Then I pause, remembering my earlier concern. What if strangers can tell that Nate and I were fooling around? I would actually die of embarrassment.

I shake my head. “I think I’ll stay and watch the ballet.”

Nate shrugs. “Suit yourself.” Without another word, he turns and vanishes down the hall.

I walk into the box and try to decide what to do. Should I stay?

Will that mean that I have to reckon with Nate again?

Feeling like a coward, I grab my wrap and drape it around myself as I flee, heading for a back door so I am not forced to see Nate as I leave.